The Future Writes the History Books
by BrownieFox
Summary: The Ninth's decisions are questions and criticized, but in his line of work one cannot afford to have regrets.


_Can you believe he froze his own son?_

 _What kind of monster would do that? What kind of torture must that have been on his son?_

 _I hope the next leader isn't like him._

The whispers become a constant when one is so high above others. Timoteo doesn't say that to be condescending, but it's the truth. From childhood, his mother and tutors helped to guide him to the top of the pedestal where all could see him and judge him, but up there he was also untouchable, power - unfathomable to most of the people below - resting on his fingertips. He stopped letting them get to him years ago. Still, though, he finds them rather... interesting.

At seventy, he is old enough to watch curiously as what people say about his mother change. There was incredible outrage over her becoming Vongola Ottavo. Even if the mafia had thought more of females than the vast majority of the world, there was still a great majority that had believe a woman was incapable of being the boss of such a large organization. Timoteo had to say, with the knowledge that somewhere in Japan was Primo's descendants, he was surprised that that resource had not been pulled up all of those years ago in an attempt to dethrone his mother's right to the mantle. A good mafia woman was supposed to keep the home safe and protect herself, take out threats that came near her. There were few hitwomen back in the day, usually used for tasks that required the target to drop their guard.

Timoteo had heard too many sighs of relief in his childhood as adults looked down at him and his older brother and were so pleased to see male heirs. Whenever the comment was made, his mother would stiffen and then become very very deliberately relaxed. She would flirt with the men until their guard was dropped and then the next thing they knew they were out of Vongola's favor and had to tread carefully if they didn't want to have their alliance or life terminated altogether.

"Never let the men out there decide who you are for you," Daniela would say to them as she adjusted their clothes so they would be in peek form for display at whatever gala or meeting they'd be forced to sit through, "You keep your head high, keep your eyes sharp, and never let them see if anything around you influences you. You are the only one who can be in control of you."

Timoteo had kept his head high, his eyes sharp, and held back tears at his brother's funeral. Overkill. Three bullets to the chest, one glaring hole in his head, and a knife with the insignia of a rival famiglia stabbed over his heart. Timoteo had allowed himself to hold his mother's hand, the only comfort. When a concerned - or at least appearing so - person approached him with condolences, Timoteo had mustered up a smile and said that was just how things went in their line of business. The day after the funeral, he began his search for guardians.

And he kept a pleasant smile of his face to the public. It stayed there as Daniela died, and it only barely wavered as Enrico and Frederico and Massimo joined her in the ground. He'd had high hopes for each of them. He had been eager to see them grow up. And his smile only fell completely, let the world know just how much it pained him, when he was forced to take down his final son.

And so they whisper about him, but Timoteo replaced the smile ages ago as the words brushed past him. It's interesting how the world changes its thinking. For now, when people talk about Daniela, they say it in awe, they finally see just how strong his mother had been. An inspiration to women everywhere, defying gender roles in a world where they were cruel to those who tried to break a mold.

And Timoteo remembers what they used to say about the Cradle Incident, what they used to think about what he'd done to his son.

 _I can't believe he would let his son live!_

 _His son is a monster and deserved to die!_

 _What kind of mafia boss just lets his son attempt to assassinate him and then doesn't make an example of him?_


End file.
